War Stories
by TheSpazzo
Summary: I never expected to die on shore leave. But sometimes, your luck's just that bad. War Hero Shepard, post-ME2.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Mass Effect franchise and all relevant characters are property of BioWare Corp. I assume no ownership of either by writing this piece.**

**Lawyer-talk is so much fun to write.**

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* * *

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**War Stories**

_It's a Saturday night._

_I can tell because the Blue Hawaiian is full to the brim with Marines and sailors on liberty, drinking, playing darts, pool, and whoring their hearts out. It's one of the most popular bars on Okinawa, and it's only gotten more popular since the Alliance established a permanent presence here in 2157. The place reeks with the scent of stale sweat and spilled beer, and a baseball bat sits on a rack behind the bar – Mitsuko, the barmaid, has used it more than once to beat the shit out of an unruly jarhead. Some squid is trying his hand at the karaoke machine and failing miserably. The poor bastard's tone deaf, but that doesn't stop a Marine from hollering at him to shut the __**fuck up**__, 'less the next dart he's gonna throw'll be right between his eyes, you copy?_

_I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. It's PJ, my spotter. Phillip Joseph Mailer is his full name, but only his mother and superior officers are allowed to call him that. He's from California, and it shows – he's got a broad, full face, tanned even darker by the Okinawan sun, a small, sharp nose, and tousled brown surfer hair just past regulation length. He's got a mug of beer and the biggest shiteating grin that seems to say_ Screw you, world, I'm 22 and serving with the meanest, baddest motherfuckers in the galaxy, I'm fucking invincible, just try and take me, try it.

"_Get any tail yet, bro?" he shouts over the karaoke._

"_No dice. You?"_

"_Nada! I think all the hot chicks got word your ugly ass was coming! It's starting to piss me off, y'know? I go on deployment for six months, finally get some goddamn libo, and I can't find one decent lay!"_

"_Christ, dude, there's a bordello at the end of the block if you're that desperate."_

"_What, and get the clap just before we head out to Elysium? Not looking to get VD after that last time. You feel me, bro?"_

"_Your call, man."_

_

* * *

_

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, Shepard, you got plastered on Okinawa. Get to the good part already."

"Hush, Zaeed," Tali says.

"Jus' saying. None of this bullshit filler in any of _my_ stories, I'll tell you that much."

The Normandy crew deck is quiet, save for the clacking of poker chips and the soft rustle of playing cards. What had started out as a quick game between Tali, Gabby, Ken, and I has turned into a shipwide tradition. Garrus, Grunt, Jack Kasumi, Legion, Mordin, and Zaeed, along with us four, are seated at the mess table.

"I call and raise, Mordin. You finished, Zaeed?" I ask, gnawing on the unlit cigar in my mouth.

"Finished? I'm about to gorram nod off from the boredom, hell yeah I'm finished."

"Works for me."

* * *

_Elysium. Home of Jon Grissom, the first human through the Mass Relays. _

_That's pretty much it._

_Seems to be enough for the five million people here, though._

_I'm in another bar because hey, bars are grunt magnets. I'll probably end the evening passed-out or brawling with the MPs – might as well get a head start on it. None of the liquor is particularly appealing, though, so I'm playing pool with a salarian who's obsessed with __Playboy__._

"_But why is there a rabbit on the front cover? I've looked through a few copies, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the contents whatsoever!"_

"_Sir, I don't know. I'm just a grunt." What I really want this guy to do is shut up and let me line up my shot. Almost got it…_

"_You don't know? How could you not know? It's a well-known publication among your species, yes?" Oh, Jesus Christ…_

"_Yes sir, Playboy is well known among humans." Now would you shut the hell up so I can line up my shot?_

"_And the rabbit is a species native to Earth, correct?" Goddammit._

"_Yes sir, the rabbit is native to Earth."_

"_And it has no erotic connotations whatsoever?" It takes all my will not to drop my cue and strangle him._

"_No, sir, it does not." _

"_So why would such an innocuous terrestrial lifeform be plastered across the cover of a pornographic magazine? It boggles the mind!" I hang my head and sigh. This is going to be a long goddamn shore leave._

"_Sir, I told you already – I. Don't. Kn-" I'm interrupted by a huge _CRASH _and a _BOOM_. The bar shakes; shelves of liquor fall to the floor and shatter. The lights flicker and die._

"_What the fu-" Another _CRASH_, another _BOOM_._

"_- was that?" someone says. I rush to the door – nearly tripping over a few dazed patrons on the way out – and kick it open. The light's blinding, but my eyes adjust quickly._

_To say the streets are in absolute chaos would be an understatement. Half the block's demolished; everyone out here is either dead, wounded, or screaming their lungs out. I hear the wail of sirens in the distance. I reach into my pocket, grab my vid phone, and dial up PJ. He picks up on the first ring, thank Christ._

"_PJ!"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_What the fuck's going on?"_

"_Not a goddamn clue, bro. I was talking to this one chick and the whole block just went up in flames. TARFU, I guess."_

"_Roger that. Meet me back at the _Tarawa_. I'll ask around."_

"_Lima Charlie, bro. On my way."_

_

* * *

_

"The _Tarawa_? That was your ship?" Tali asks.

"Yeah. One old girl, but she served us well enough."

"I bet ten credits," Garrus says, sliding a chip into the pool. Zaeed guffaws.

"Jus' ten? You're willing to take on a Mantis with that dinky little rifle of yours, but you're afraid to bet more than ten credits?"

"My rifle's not 'dinky'. And I don't want to risk losing too much."

"You know that we've got practically unlimited funding now courtesy of Cerberus, right?" I ask.

"I know. I'm just saving up." Zaeed butts in.

"For what? A trip to the Consort?" Garrus glares at Zaeed. Jesus, if looks could kill…

"It's personal," Garrus hisses.

…then Zaeed would be dead about twenty times over. And on fire.

"Have also wondered as to origin of _Playboy_ mascot," Mordin says. "Rabbit symbolic of fertility? Endurance? Speed? All the above?"

"Not the time, Doc."

"Apologies, Shepard. Continue."

* * *

_I meet PJ at the gangplank. His usually jovial face is dead serious – no smile, no laughter, no bad jokes. Around us, it's chaos – civilians are closing up shops, piling everything they can fit into dinky little shoulder bags. Paramedics and some of our corpsmen are working on the wounded, grunts are rushing back up the gangplank into the _Tarawa_, cars are zooming about on the streets, offering to evacuate anyone who can pay, and all throughout this, our officers are yelling at us to __**GET MOVING**__, to __**SUIT UP AND PREPARE FOR COMBAT OPS, YES, PRIVATE FLEMING, THAT MEANS **__**YOU**__** GODDAMMIT, GO, GET YOUR SORRY ASS UP THAT RAMP. **__We haul ass up the gangplank. What choice do we have?_

"_What's the word, PJ?"_

"_We've got incoming. Pirates and slavers. They're mounting an assault on Elysium."_

"_Bullshit." He shakes his head._

"_Recon drones confirmed it. They'll be here within the next 90 minutes."_

"_How many?"_

"_Ten regiments. At least ten. Seven more probable, and six more unconfirmed on top of that." We're inside the _Tarawa_ now, heading for the armory. _

"_Give me a number, PJ."_

"_40,000. Confirmed. And 4,000 of us, including the garrison."_

"_We're fucked."_

"_Pretty much. El-Tee says there's no time to suit up. Grab your rifle, K-pot and shield harness. I'll get my spotting scope."_

"_We're gonna fight them?"_

"_If you've got a better idea, Shepard, I'm sure the El-Tee'd love to hear it. Company's assembling on the main street in five mikes. Better hurry."_

_

* * *

_Zaeed lets out a low whistle. "Ten to one. Goddamn, Shepard."

"Really made you work for that Star of Terra, huh?" Kasumi chimes in.

"Killing's not work, Kasumi," I reply.

"If it's not work then what the bloody hell'm I getting paid for?"

"Zaeed, you're getting paid by the mission, not by the body."

"And what do we do on those missions? Hand out rice to starving Indonesians? Build schools for impoverished batarians? Fuck no. We kill. I call, Kas."

"Me too."

* * *

"_Five mikes out! Charge and lock!"_

_I pop out the scope on my Avenger and work the bolt – not an easy thing to do in a Grizzly making 150 KPH on an unpaved road. The shock absorbers broke down months ago in this Grizzly. As far as I know, it was put on the mechanics' 'to-fix' list, but some POG colonel's hovercar got in ahead of it. As a result, we feel every bump and every pothole, and there's no shortage of either here near the outskirts of the city. It's all I can do to hold on to my teeth._

_Good to know the Alliance still loves screwing over us 0300 types._

_The lieutenant briefed us just before we got into the Grizzlies. Once the Grizzlies drop us off, PJ and I are to set up in a church tower and provide overwatch for the company. Since we've got the high ground, we're also responsible for calling in fire missions along the battalion's MLR from a mortar battery set up on a ridgeline a couple of clicks back. It's pretty big stuff – 120 mike-mikes – but I'm still not real confident about our chances. PJ's sitting across from me, the spotting scope laid out on his lap. I almost manage to nod off when PJ's voice wakes me up._

"_Hey, Shepard." I grunt in response._

"_You got any smokes, bro?" I dig into the chest pocket of my utilities and come out with a pack of Alliance-issue cigarettes. I toss them over to PJ. _

"_Thanks, man." He takes one out and lights up._

"_You nervous?"_

"_Is that rhetorical?"_

"_Why would it be?"_

"_I'm shaking in my goddamn boots, bro. We've got better training, but they've got better numbers."_

"_What about those mortars?"_

"_What about 'em? I guarantee they'll overrun us by the time you register the goddamn things and put in a call for fire. This whole thing's FUBAR, bro. We're going to be calling in fire missions and sniping from the most exposed place on the entire MLR. What if the pirates have arty of their own? What if they got armor? Shit, what if they got air support? What we _should_ do is get starside, blow their shit away with the _Tarawa_'s main cannon."_

"_What about the civvies?"_

"_I've seen how those slavers operate, Shepard. So have you. A misregistered cannon shell's quick and painless. Can't say the same for slavery." He leans toward me. "Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees, bro."_

"_Dying's dying, PJ. Nothing good about it."_

"_Shakespeare said we owe God a death," another guys pipes up. One of the FNGs. Legault, I think. Figures. _

"_Well, I wouldn't mind Him extending my line of credit for a little longer. What about you, PJ?"_

"_Fuck no. I ain't dying here. Not my time, not my place. Oorah, bro?"_

"_Oorah."_

_

* * *

_A/N: My first Mass Effect piece! Yay! And I finally figured out how to insert horizontal rulers! Double-yay!

I have to say, posting here is a whole lot easier than posting on BioWare Social Network. The formatting there is SUCH a pain in the ass. I spend almost as much time realigning paragraphs and reapplying bolds and italics as I do writing the gorram thing.

This is also my first M-rated story, because, well...it's the War Hero background, what do you expect?

Oh, and here's a Gruntspeak Glossary for those of you who got lost in the constant barrage of military jargon:

0300: The infantry Military Occupation Specialty series.

El-Tee: slang for a lieutenant, usually a 2nd Lieutenant.

FNG: Fucking New Guy.

FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Repair. When a situation is just that screwed up.

K-pot: a Marine's helmet.

Lima Charlie: phonetic shorthand for loud and clear.

Mikes: phonetic shorthand for minutes.

Mike-Mike: phonetics shorthand for millimeter.

MLR: Main Line of Resistance. Where the bulk of a defender's forces are concentrated in opposition to an attacking force.

MPs: Military Police. Responsible for disciplining unruly Marines on liberty, among other things.

POG: Personnel Other than Grunts. A pejorative acronym for rear-echelon personnel.

TARFU: Things Are Really Fucked Up. When a situation is worse than SNAFU, but not quite FUBAR.

As always, reviews are welcome, constructive criticism even more so. Flames are, too, if you feel obliged.

Here's hoping this gets linked to TV Tropes.


	2. Chapter 2

It's Ken who interrupts this time. "Riveting story, Commander, fantastic stuff. But now that betting's done, we need to see everyone's cards." We made him dealer at the start of the game. He's doing okay so far.

"Right." I toss mine on the table. It's an okay hand – a two and five of diamonds, a three and six of clubs, and a four of spades.

"Shep's got a straight, Mordin's got three of a kind, Zaeed's got two pair, Tali's got…got…" His voice trails off.

"What? What's she got?" Kasumi asks.

"I don't fucking believe it," Zaeed grunts. "The girl's got a bloody royal flush!

"Royal flush? Intriguing. Assume this means Tali'Zorah wins?" Mordin pipes up.

"Yeah, this round." Ken shakes his head as he slides the gargantuan pile of poker chips over to her. "Dunno how you do it, girl, but you'd put casinos out of business at this rate."

Tali shrugs. "What can I say? I've got a good poker face."

* * *

"_Raptor Six, this is Bloodhound. We're set up in the tower, over." _

"_**Roger, Bloodhound, start ranging. Out."**__ I turn to PJ. He's setting up his spotting scope and puffing away on a cigarette. It's his third one in thirty minutes. The company's set up in front of us on a big, open plain. All the buildings are on our side of the MLR. Smart move, if you ask me. We give the pirates too many flanking opportunities if we put the MLR in the middle of them. Plus, house-to-house fighting is a real bitch._

"_That thing ready?" I ask._

"_One sec." He gives it a tremendous _whack_ and it _whirr_s to life._

"_Now it is." I deploy my rifle's bipod and set it up on the edge of the parapet. I look through the scope and start searching around for anything beyond the MLR that can be used as cover._

"_PJ."_

"_Yeah, bro?"_

"_Debris pile, their side of the MLR."_

"_I see it."_

"_Range?"_

"_Six-two-three yards." I write down the distance on a range card. These cards are standard issue for snipers – we use them to record distances to targets so we're not compensating on the fly when the shit hits the fan. _

"_Tag it One-Alpha."_

"_Roger." PJ presses a few buttons on the spotting scope. "Done."_

"_You see the dune?"_

"_Which one?"_

"_The one to the right of the debris pile." A pause as he swivels the scope around._

"_I see it. Six-five-four yards."_

"_Tag it Two-Alpha." I jot down the range on the range card._

"_Done." My radio crackles to life._

"_**Raptor Six, this is Raptor One Actual, over." **_

"_**This is Six, send traffic."**_

"_**Raptor Six, we're seeing dust clouds on the horizon." **__I glance at PJ. His eyes are still glued to the scope._

"_**Say again, Raptor One?"**_

"_**I say again, there're dust clouds on the horizon, over."**_

"_**Roger, Raptor One. Pull in your OPs and go to one hundred percent alert, over."**_

"_**Wilco, Six. One out."**__ I look out at the horizon, and the biggest dust cloud I've ever seen is hanging lazily in the sky. _

"_That ain't good," PJ remarks._

"_Yeah, no kidding." Raptor One comes on the radio again._

"_**Raptor Six, this is One Actual. We've got a visual on hostile foot-mobiles coming out of the dust-storm."**_

"_**Roger, One Actual. How many?"**_

"_**Three regiment-strength units."**_

"_**Roger, One Actual. You are weapons free."**_

"_Here we go," PJ mutters._

"_Are they seriously going to try a frontal assault?"_

"_Shit, bro, they've got the numbers to do it. And we're spread so goddamn thin they might actually break through." I look through my scope and see a rag-tag mass of aliens coming out of the dust – turians, batarians, salarians, even a couple of asari, mouths frozen open, bellowing barely audible battle cries. It'd be a lot less scary if there weren't so many of them._

"_Let's get spooky." I activate my omni-tool and turn on my tactical cloak. _

"_Roger," PJ says. He follows suit. I press the PTT button on my transmitter._

"_Steel Rain, this is Bloodhound, adjust fire, over."_

"_**Bloodhound, this is Steel Rain, adjust fire, out."**_

"_Grid one-eight-oh-five-niner-one, infantry regiment in the open, ICM I/C in effect, danger close, over." They're getting closer now. Some of our boys on the MLR have already opened up. The pirates have done likewise._

"_**Roger, Bloodhound, read back for copy: grid one-eight-oh-five-niner-one, infantry battalion in the open, ICM I/C in effect, danger close, over."**_

"_Affirmative, Steel Rain."_

"_**Roger, Bloodhound. Standby for shot."**__ A pause, then a distant _crump_. __**"Shot out."**_

_A mortar round is completely silent in flight, so the only warning the pirates get is when a round explodes right in the middle of them, scattering them like bowling pins._

_A modern Alliance-issue 120 millimeter mortar firing your run-of-the-mill proximity-fused HE shell has a kill radius of about twenty-five meters and a wounding radius of about seventy-five meters. Start firing ICM rounds – which we're not, since this mission is danger close – and you can easily double that. That's not including the possibility of casualties from SNT or the overpressure effect. To put it bluntly, it is _extremely_ good at fucking people up_._ Get a whole battery on a fire-for-effect mission and you can get a real meat-grinder going. Which is exactly what I'm about to do._

"_Steel Rain, this is Bloodhound. Ten rounds, fire for effect, over." Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds. Grovel, you scummy motherfuckers, for I have a radio hot-linked to Weapons Company._

"_**Roger, Bloodhound. On the way."**__ I release the PTT button, bring the stock of my rifle to my shoulder, and look through the scope. I have a few seconds to get a target before impact. Six 120s firing ten rounds each will bring down some serious hell._

"_Find me a target, PJ."_

"_Got one. Batarian, looks like an officer. Tagged him for you. Range five-two-two, elevation three plus one, wind one minute left to right." An arrow pointing to the right appears in my scope, and I swivel the Avenger around until the officer's in my sights. He's yelling at someone and making hand signals. Stupid. That kind of stuff is exactly what PJ and I are trained to look for. I hold an inch above his chest to correct for bullet drop._

"_On target."_

"_Fire." I squeeze the trigger. _

_And the world explodes._

_The mortar rounds start detonating one after another on the plains, turning the ground into a killing field. We can't see shit through all the dust the shells kick up, but body parts are flying everywhere._

"_HO-LEE _SHIT!_" PJ hollers. "HA-HA! WOOO! YEAH! THAT'S SOME WRATH OF GOD SHIT RIGHT THERE, BRO!" The shockwaves are shaking the tower something fierce. I start counting explosions._

"_CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING?" I yell to PJ._

"_CAN'T SEE SHIT, BRO! BUT THEY'RE IN THE FUCKING HURT LOCKER NOW!"_

_The mission's coming to an end. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine…sixty. _

_There's an eerie stillness in the air as the dust clears. Nothing's moving out beyond the MLR._

"_Did I get 'im?"_

"_Who, the batarian? Shit, bro, if you didn't, the mortars sure as hell did. Ain't nothing left alive out there." _

"_**Raptor Six, this is Chaos. Give me a sitrep." **__It's the garrison commander._

"_**All companies down to half-strength, Chaos. Including walking wounded."**_

"_**Roger, Six. Hold position."**_

"_Not like we're going anywhere," PJ mutters._

"_**This is Steel Rain! We're getting a lot of EM traffic over here!"**_

"_**Roger, Steel Rain, what is it? **__There's a _crump, crump, crump_ in the distance. PJ looks at me._

"_That ain't outgoing."_

"_**Counter-battery radar! They've got a lock on –" **__The signal dies with a loud whine. There's a _boom, boom, boom_ to our rear._

"_Well, shit. There goes our arty. What else we got, Jack?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_Bullshit."_

"_I'm serious, man. We're the only thing standing between these assholes and Elysium now."_

"_Well, that's just fucking peachy."_

"_**Chaos, this is Raptor Six Actual! They're on our flanks! Taking heavy casualties!"**_

"_**Hold position Six, Headquarters Company is attempting a relief-in-place!" **__That gets my attention._

"_Headquarters Company? They're sending out the chairborne to fight now?" A deafening thundercrack suddenly echoes throughout the colony. PJ and I glance at each other. _

"_That wasn't thunder, bro."_

_I look over my shoulder in time to see the _Tarawa _explode right over the center of Elysium, sending brilliant red-orange streaks of fire into the atmosphere. The sky goes dark with pirate ships – they're literally blotting out the sun._

"_Oh, this can't happening…"_

"_What?"_

"_They got an entire goddamn _fleet_. And they got the _Tarawa._" _

"_Looks like we're gonna pay Him back sooner than we thought."_


End file.
